Could This Be Out of Line?
by dustyroses
Summary: Jesse/Quinn; AU. Q's POV. Post-"Bad Reputation" - Quinn breaks up with Puck after Rachel's "Run, Joey, Run" debacle and unexpectedly finds understanding in Jesse.
1. Intro

**_Intro_  
**

As soon as the lights went back up and Rachel practically skipped her way to the front of the music room, I took to studying the other Glee Clubbers' facial expressions to see if they shared my _disgust_, and I was sorely disappointed. I could see from everyone's faces that they were actually impressed with Rachel's 'Bad Reputation' assignment. All right, even I, her purported arch nemesis, had to agree to some extent too. As much as everybody hated to admit it, she had the talent to pull off that _terrible_ 'Run, Joey, Run' song. She had 'rehabilitated it', in Mr Schue's words, despite the acting that would make even Lindsay Lohan cringe. At least this new version had vocals that knocked every amateur singer out of the water. However, from what I saw, there were a couple of people – besides me – who remained unaffected. Finn, Puck and St. James appeared to be completely unmoved by the video. In fact, they looked downright _insulted_.

I immediate turned – as quickly and steadily as I could with a preggo belly, mind you – in my seat to face Puck. I had every reason to be angry. He was my boyfriend and what did he do? He went to make some _sickeningly_ suggestive video with _Rachel Berry_, the one girl I really do not have any patience left for. Wasn't it enough that she had to tell Finn about the baby? Did she have to take him _and_ Puck too?

I was about to yell at Puck for going behind by back about this when Finn spoke first. "What the _hell_, Rachel? What was _that _about?"

"I agree, what's going on?" St. James spat out. "I thought you and I were going out!"

"You know, I had a feeling this was gonna be a bad idea when you asked me to do this!" Puck piped up. "I _knew_ you had to have something up your sleeve!"

I glared daggers at him. Boys were either stupid or… Oh God, who was I kidding? There was no alternative.

"You could have at least said _no_," I snapped at him, crossing my arms and putting on my best bitch face. It was the best mechanism. It worked on everyone. It scared them into submission.

"Come on, babe." Puck turned to look at me as though I was crazy. I _hated_ it when he used words like 'babe' with me. I mean, seriously, way to objectify, you idiot. "You know me. If you keep me on a rein too long and I can't get my fix, I can't be a good father."

Fine, so the bitch face worked on everyone except Noah Puckerman, apparently.

My eyes narrowed and I wished so badly that I could shoot laser beams through his thick skull and fry his brain to a crisp. We've been through this a million times – no monogamy, no relationship – and if he couldn't even keep to that deal, there was nothing more to do except clobber him to death with a metal pipe-

"I think you're all overreacting a pinch," Rachel squeaked from where she was in front of the projector screen, interrupting my pleasant train of thought regarding the dismembering of my boyfriend. "Th-th-this was just an artistic expression reflecting the song I chose-!"

"No, it isn't," Finn exclaimed, repulsed. "It's you trying to fix whatever crappy reputation you have! You just want to look like some trashy slutty singer girl who can get some so people'll start to forget you were at the bottom of that Glist!"

Just the mention of the word 'Glist' made my heart rate speed up considerably. Starting that list was probably the worst idea I'd ever had, and I felt really guilty about it, but if I revealed myself, I would never hear the end of it; plus, I'd be suspended. As if being stripped of my position as head cheerleader, being kicked out of my parents' place, and becoming a teenage mother didn't already ruin my rep enough. I wanted to be a bad girl for the attention, sure, but I wasn't stupid. I needed to get to college with the best possible track record as far as the school administration was concerned. So I kept quiet and let them all argue it out.

"Being triple cast with two other dudes in your _girlfriend's_ music video is _degrading_, Rachel! It's totally humiliating. How could you put me through this?" St. James bellowed. Immediately people around me were rolling their eyes at his antics. All right, so I knew he was a total drama queen like Rachel, but somehow I could tell he was really hurt and none of it was an act at all. I couldn't help it. I sympathised with him pretty quickly.

St. James swiftly pushed himself to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. "I should have been enough for you, Rachel," he remarked coldly before storming out of the room. He didn't even bother with the door slam like most drama queens would.

"Jesse, wait!" Rachel called out after him. Great, why did _she_ have to sound like such a wounded puppy? This was _her_ fault! Now I'm feeling sorry for _her_ too. All these pregnancy hormones must make me like my enemies a bit too much.

Finn got up to leave too but Puck didn't. He was looking intently at me, as if finally realising how I was feeling. At the same time, everyone was staring at me, as though they were waiting for me to fully explode like St. James had, or throw a shoe at Puck or something. Puck kept trying to take my hand but I pulled it away from him every time. My shoulders were beginning to quiver as I struggled not to cry in front of everybody. I was still so self-conscious, even after being entirely shamed right before their eyes so many times over. I couldn't take this anymore. If I didn't stand up for myself I would be known as the pregnant girlfriend who could be pushed around. That certainly wasn't going to happen. This was Quinn Fabray, head bitch in charge, thank you very much. So I got knocked up and people thought I'd lost my spark to Santana because of it. Well, they were wrong. _Nobody_ pushed me around if I could help it.

"We've talked about this." But damn, I couldn't even get my voice over a mutter – that was how choked up and upset I was. I took deep, shaky breaths to calm myself down. "If you can't stop fooling around with every other girl in school just because I don't give it up to you every day, we are done. I forget you exist. This baby becomes nobody's because you're not part of my life anymore. _I_ don't want to do this but congratulations, _you_ just made that decision so much easier. Now you're free to be with every other girl in your dreams – no strings attached. Just what you wanted."

I stood up and floundered down the choir room steps, ignoring Mercedes's and Tina's outstretched arms to help me, and stumbled out clutching my belly. I only let my tears freely fall when I had reached the end of the hallway by the school's front steps, where I collapsed in a messy, crying heap.

* * *

**A/N:** This is an experiment yet again. I know I haven't actually revealed anything just yet, but it's just a prologue. Wanted to have some feedback, because I really like this AU pairing (Jesse/Quinn aka St. Fabray) and would not want to screw it up. This is my first ever Glee fic, so I'm quite excited. Should I continue it? Should it still remain in first person? I'd like to know :) Thanks so much for reading!


	2. A Total Eclipse of the Heart

_**Chapter One – A Total Eclipse of the Heart**_

The weather just _had_ to be irritatingly cliché with the rain and gloom. I had finally stopped crying – all of that had dissolved to little hiccoughs every once in awhile – however instead of feeling any kinds of better, I simply felt so exhausted that I was feeling nothing at the moment. My brain had gone all fuzzy and disoriented, and my eyes were burning and puffed up. My afternoons sometimes ended this way, I had to admit, especially on the days without Glee when I remembered I was no longer a Cheerio. It made me feel the most lonely. I sighed, annoyed at my own self-pity. I couldn't help remembering the last conversation I had with my father, though. It was the kind of thing that was kept on replay in the back of my mind that pushed itself to the forefront when I had absolutely nothing else to think about. It always left me a disintegrated mess.

'_Go ahead, just push every bad feeling we have ever had in this house OUT, like you always do. You and Mom can always pretend nothing is wrong-!'_

'_DO NOT turn this on us! YOU are the disappointment and the failure!'_

'_Why? Because I'm not a little girl anymore? Because I made a mistake?'_

'_Who are you? I don't even recognise you anymore!'_

My thoughts were abruptly cut off though. I wasn't expecting anyone to be down this end of the hallway with me but all of a sudden a hand appeared in my line of vision, lightly waving a handkerchief in my face. My hands instinctively went up to my face – I was crying again unawares. For a split second I thought it was Puck standing next to me and had the right idea to spit on his shoes when I realised Puck never wore anything other than his favourite pair of Nike sports sneakers. The pair of feet in front of me was clad in…dress shoes. No other guy except _St. James_ wore those. What did _he_ want?

"I don't need that," I mumbled, turning away from him to face the wall I was leaning against, wiping my face with my hands instead.

"Yes, you do."

"I'm _fine_."

Still he continued to pester me, practically throwing his hankie in my face.

"St. James, stop that!" I snapped, glaring up at him.

"All right, all right, but don't say I didn't try," he sighed in defeat. I thought he was going to walk away now but that would only be too good to be true. Instead, St. James decided to plop himself on the step next to me. I turned to yell at him to leave me alone and it was only then that I fully realised he looked soaked through to his skin. It was a downpour outside, and he must have been stupid enough to go have a walk or something.

"What?" He'd caught me staring at him in disbelief.

"You're all wet." I wasn't usually Captain Obvious.

"My car wouldn't start," St. James replied nonchalantly. "I don't have an umbrella so I had to walk back here under that immense grey curtain of rain."

Who the hell said 'curtain of rain' in a casual conversation? I raised an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you at least change? You might catch a cold," I asked gingerly.

"I'll be fine. If I were _you_ though, I'd start thinking about getting inside. Think about that unborn child of yours," he muttered.

Now, I have _never_, in my life, said a single thing to Jesse St. James, so I couldn't really judge him. I didn't know much – or care much – about him, other than the fact that he'd jumped ship from Vocal Adrenaline a few weeks ago to join New Directions, and he could jeopardise our chances to place at Nationals at any moment. He was like a time bomb to me. I was still really sceptical of his loyalties, so I stayed away from him. To be honest, Rachel was probably the only one who _didn't_ think St. James was a spy. Well, what would you expect? She was, after all, the one he'd apparently given up his whole life for. Any girl would fall head-over-heels for that kind of commitment, especially since St. James – much like myself, I might add – had a really good life back at Carmel. He had been a star in Vocal Adrenaline – Mr Popular, I would imagine – and now here he was at the bottom of the heap, singing with an unknown Glee Club. _We_ didn't have Shelby Corcoran or Dakota Stanley so technically we didn't have the best. I guess that was why everybody remained really suspicious of him. Thinking logically, nobody in their right minds in Lima, Ohio, would give all that up for some girl he met at a music library. This whole medieval love thing wasn't really believable. St. James also mostly kept to himself and never really bothered to make friends with other group members, so nobody knew him very well.

Yet here he was, being nice to someone _other_ than his one-and-only. Someone who was a _stranger_ to him. Maybe he had a soft spot for pregnant teenagers crying on school porches or something weird like that. Like Rachel and her fetish for animal sweaters, knee-high socks and granny pant suits. These strange dramatic acting types had their fixes.

St. James had pulled a single cigarette from the inside of his jacket. It was surprisingly dry considering the rest of him. He was playing with it, twirling it between his fingers. I was pretty sure I looked grossed out and confused at the same time.

"If you have any intention to smoke, please don't do it around me or my baby."

"Do you actually believe a person like _me_ would taint my body like _this_?" he scoffed in a manner that could only be his delusion of superiority. There went my good image of you, jerk.

"Then what are you doing with that?"

He wiggled the little white line between his index and middle fingers. "Joe, one of the janitors, saw me leaving the choir room in my fury and offered it to me discreetly. I took it because it came to me that it'll make good acting practice. I'm picturing what it would be like to actually _want_ to die of lung cancer. You know, to be indifferent to the effects of smoking just because it makes me feel good. Putting on the right facial expressions. Hollywood films are full of characters that are bound to this solitary fag. If I wish to make it big, I'm going to have to be able to pull of the illusion that smoking is not a problem for me even though it really makes me sick just thinking about it. With CGI, I can still star in big screen successes without ever having to contaminate my lungs with the dreaded cancer stick."

He _really_ thought he was all that, didn't he? I could only shake my head in exasperation.

"Listen, St. James," I sighed. "I don't know what gave you the impression that I actually care about your future career as the amazing closeted acting phenomenon, but news flash: I really don't, okay? I have my own problems to worry about. If you don't mind, I'd rather sit here in silence than listen to your inane babble about how fabulous you are."

So I was a little rude. It's called having an attitude. I'd learnt throughout the years that cattiness in the right amounts got you what you needed anyway. Besides, my school seemed to think that being pregnant meant I couldn't be bitchy or something. How I enjoyed proving them wrong. Sorry to disappoint, population at William McKinley, I wasn't going to change just because I'd supersized.

He was looking at me strangely now, like he was studying me. His head was tilted to the side and his eyes, narrowed in concentration.

"_What?_"

"You're right," he finally said after a long, uncomfortable pause. "You _are_ different. You're no Rachel. She would have hit me with her thickest binder for even mentioning Hollywood. She is absolutely repulsed by the idea, but I-"

"St. James, _please_," I tried again. "Be quiet for a few minutes. My baby hormones don't allow a lot of room for patience. Ever read _Twilight_? I think there's something in there about Bella having a patience quota and _she_ wasn't even pregnant. I'm on a short fuse right now. Get it? So watch it."

He only granted me that sense of tranquility for a couple of seconds, though. I could have punched his face. What stopped me was the fact that he'd refrained from talking about himself.

"I can't believe you read crap like _Twilight_." He sounded on the verge of laughter.

"I _don't_," I said through gritted teeth. "Brittany told me that. She was asking me what the pronunciation of 'quota' was. I'm surprised she's even reading."

"It's incredible she's in high school."

"You know, that's the first thing you've said today that I agree with." I rolled my eyes.

"_You know_, your inability to control your emotions right now is getting incredibly frustrating and unnecessary at my expense," St. James noted. "I'd give you some leeway if I _didn't_ think you actually enjoyed being a bitch to people. At least, that's what Rachel tells me."

"Before you try to tell me who I am, let me remind you that you know _nothing_ about me," I warned in a low voice. "And I would think you wouldn't be so keen to listen to _Rachel_ now after what she just did to you."

"Do not- Don't bring her into this."

"_You_ started it."

Of course I knew I was being childish but I couldn't stop myself. It was definitely bad anger management to throw tantrums and create silly arguments like this; however, at least it kept St. James from either his self-absorbed comments or being too nosy. I needed none of those things.

"Well, in my opinion, keeping all your feelings quiet never got you anywhere," he proclaimed, which only made me more irritated. The know-it-all wouldn't give me a moment's peace. I didn't even bother to reply this time.

"Why don't you just go home and sleep your frustration off? I know that helps _me_ when I'm stressed," he told me suddenly, sounding genuinely curious. "If you don't have a ride, I've called my uncle – he's coming to pick me up – and he can give you a lift home. Where do you live?"

"At this point, I really don't know," I blurted out without thinking. Great, now he was looking at me all funny again with his eyebrows scrunched up and his lip curled. I had said too much! St. James wasn't stupid, and he caught on quickly enough for someone who didn't care about anything other than himself or his girlfriend. And now he wanted answers. As far as I knew, he was persistent in getting information - whatever it was - out of anyone.

"Never mind," I tried to cover up my little mistake. "Forget I said anything-"

"I don't know of anybody who could put 'I basically don't have a home to go to' out of their mind very easily," St. James pointed out. He was really concerned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

_Gee, why would I want to talk about it with you, a person I don't even know? You have the worst conversation transitions I've ever heard – jumping from small talk to personal issues quicker than anyone else I've known – and to be honest, I don't even know how genuine you are. So why would I tell you anything? _I could suppress the annoyance in my speech, but I basically imploded.

"Okay, here's how it's going down. It's not any of your business, so I suggest you not pry, all right? I don't want to talk about it, least of all with _you_," I snapped. "I appreciate you trying to be nice but- just- no."

Thank the heavens for the bliss that followed in his silence. It stretched for awhile as he seemed to choose his words carefully. He didn't drop his gaze from me though, and it was incredibly disconcerting.

"Fine," he agreed in the end. "But you can't expect me to leave you sitting here."

"Yes I can," I said coldly. I felt like I was going to cry again, and this time I didn't have any idea why. "God, why do you even care, St. James? You can, and you _will_ stop bugging me. Are we clear?"

He was stubborn as a damn mule. "This rain isn't going to subside any time soon, so at least go inside before you freeze to death. Look at you! You don't even have a jacket on for goodness' sake!"

"Dear lord, what will it take for you to leave me alone?" I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn't have to look at him and so I could curb the urge to hit him. If he was this annoying all the time, I would never be speaking to him again – you could bet on that.

"Just-" he stopped for a second, seemingly questioning his own over-interest in my predicament. "Just go back inside or something where it's warmer, all right? Do it and I promise I'll stop bothering you. I've to go soon anyway. My uncle's almost here."

"Fine," I resigned, standing up and turning to head back into the school. Before I left, I had some parting words, though, "But read my lips. I don't need you to worry about me, St. James. Do us both a favour and save it."


	3. This is my Goodbye

**_Chapter Two - This Is My Good-bye_  
**

The ride home in Puck's car was excruciatingly silent. I was resolute in being mute the whole way, and he seemed out of words to say as well. Maybe he was fed up with my constant complaining and my shoving of my principles down his throat. Well, good, at least I know I should kick him to the kerb before this gets any worse. There was always that problem that if we broke up now, I would be out on the street with no one to turn to, although I knew I would have to figure it out eventually if Puck refused to man up and accept his responsibilities. I could not be with him if all he could think of was getting into other girls' pants and keeping up with his 'lifestyle'. He just kept rebounding. He got me into this baby mess and if he expected me to carry the burden alone, he was wrong.

The thing was, he kept charming me and leading me on with his speeches about wanting to do _everything_ for our baby – that we could raise it _together_ and be good parents – together. He always said he was never going to leave. I continued to wonder sometimes if for all his shortcomings Puck could still walk the talk. We _did_ do a pretty good job babysitting Kendra's kids that one time. I could actually admit that I had fun doing it, and it felt so rewarding afterwards. Puck said he enjoyed it too. Of course, later on I found out exactly what he meant when he told me that… and after the incident we stopped speaking for awhile. Things got worse after Rachel spilled the beans. I'd be lying if I said I honestly didn't blame her at all. In fact, I was _still_ angry. So what if I would have done the same to her if I was in her position? The fact was that it _didn't_ happen to her but to me.

If I ever longed to be accepted back into my parents' home, it was right then. When Puck pulled into his driveway, I'd never seen him get out of the car quicker than he did that evening to open the door for me and help me out. I didn't want to lead him on to believe that I was all right with what he'd done, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings either. I cared about him a lot, in spite of all he'd done. It made me hate myself and I found I couldn't walk up to his house holding his hand like I had the past couple of weeks I'd lived with him. It felt disgusting, pining after him like this. It was like an ongoing, heated tennis match in my mind right then.

"Babe, I _said_ I was sorry." He sounded exasperated now. "What else do you want from me? I told you – nothing happened when we made that video. It was all pretend. Hell, I got played too. Listen, I know I should have told you, but you wouldn't have let me do it if I had."

"Exactly _why_ did you want to do it in the first place, Puck?" I asked, even though I basically knew the answer to that one. Gazing up into his hazel eyes, I noticed they were as beautiful as I had always thought they were, but it was different somehow. The spark was gone and I knew right then he could try to charm me all he wanted. I wouldn't fall for it again.

At the same time, it was scary to lose him now. Everything I'd ever had was taken from me and now I was going to voluntarily give up Puck. _For what?_ I asked myself. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be brought down by him anymore – if I wanted to keep crying about his flirtatious tendencies or his flings – and yet I wasn't convinced that I would find anyone to support me if I upped and left like that.

_You have to support yourself now, Q,_ I told myself, feeling the dread quickly pass over me.

"I… I don't know," he said after awhile, running his hands through what little hair he had. I closed my eyes and turned away.

"You still like her," I answered for him. "A lot. You're just afraid to tell that to me…and to yourself."

"No way, you got it all wrong, babe," Puck defended himself; it only served to make my blood boil. "I love _you_. Whatever Rachel is to me, it's not what you think. She's got Jesse now – she's moved on."

"You know she can't resist the attention," I accused. "It's her pitfall. She wants to be popular so badly she would do anything – including go crying into the arms of every guy in school. She's not necessarily a bad person – I get that – but this is why most people still don't like her very much. She's still a _child_, Puck."

"And _you're_ not?" he turned the tables on me and glared. "Getting knocked up doesn't make you any more of a grown-up."

That stung. Badly.

"What's all the racket out here, kids?" Mrs Puckerman called through an open window. "Are you coming in? Dinner's ready."

"It's okay, Mrs Puckerman," I replied loudly. "I'm not staying."

"What?" Puck's eyes immediately filled with confusion and…fear.

"I'm leaving. Tonight," I told him a little softer.

"Wait, Quinn," Puck attempted to take my hand and like that afternoon, I rejected him. I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt me to see him look so injured, but I just couldn't take it anymore.

"Can't we at least talk about this?" he nearly begged as I walked into the house towards the guest room the Puckermans had spared me for the past couple of weeks.

"What's to talk about? Just a few minutes ago, you didn't even want to discuss this anymore," I contested. Tears had begun to well up. It took more effort to hold them back than I cared to make, so I let them fall shamelessly. "You're not going to change. I'd be a fool if I still believe you would for me. And even if you won't admit it, you still have feelings for Rachel. Figures. She gets everything."

"So…you're jealous of Rachel?"

"Yes," I replied coldly and honestly, taking him by surprise. "I'm jealous that she's to be the one who takes everything from me. She wanted my boyfriend, she got him. She wants solos; she gets them because she's the star singer. Now, even though she's taken, she still has first dibs on my boyfriend. I'm tired of this, Puck. I'm tired of having to pretend like I'm okay every day, all right? I can't stay in this house any longer, I'm sorry."

Looking at him, I knew he still didn't fully understand.

"In short, Puck," I sighed. "I can't trust you. I can't trust that you won't slip back into your old ways. I've seen it happen one too many times now. You don't know how much it kills me every time I think about it. You tell me you want to raise this baby with me and then you go off sexting or meeting up with some other girl for the evening. The only time I remember you actually wanting to spend time with me was the night we did it."

I was already packed. I didn't really have that many things to begin with. Emotionally, the baggage weighed down on me much more.

"Well, where are you going tonight, huh?" Puck challenged. "It's not safe to be wandering about on your own. Especially the way you are now – you know, _pregnant_ and all – and people knowing you're out on the street. They could take advantage of you, Quinn."

"Quinn, honey," Mrs Puckerman puttered into the room. "Where are you off to? You-you're packed. Are you leaving for good?"

"Mom," Puck hounded. "Try to make her stay at least the night. She won't listen to me."

"Quinn, sweetie, if you don't want to listen to Puck every day, at least do it now," Mrs Puckerman encouraged. "It's dangerous outside this time of night. Do stay."

I knew I couldn't.

"Let me borrow your phone, Mrs Puckerman," I said. "Please."

So I shooed everyone else out of the room and gave Isabel a call. My sister was the last resort now, so I prayed hard she would pick up. The last time I spoke to her was a day after I had been kicked out. We had never been particularly close, but she was receptive of my problems – she said if I ever needed anything I could contact her again, so I was going to hold her to her word right then.

Five rings. "Hello?"

"Izz, it's Quinn," I choked through my tears.

"Quinn, what's wrong?"

"Do you think- Do you think I could crash at your place for awhile? I'm moving out of- of my friend's."

"Picked an odd time to move out, sis," Izz admitted. "But I guess it's no problem. Do you need me to pick you up?"

I gave her Puck's address and issued many thank-yous – honestly, my gratitude towards her right then was paramount. Puck wouldn't let me carry my own luggage but I suppose it really wasn't wise of me to do it by myself anyway – I was five weeks till my due date. He really wasn't happy, but probably for the sake of his mother, he didn't yell at me.

Per Mrs Puckerman's unrelenting request, I stayed for dinner. She looked so upset that I _couldn't_ say no to that again. Izz would take awhile to find Puck's house anyway so it wasn't like I was in a hurry. The tiny square table of four – Puck, his mom, his little sister Ashley and me – was silent except for the clinking of glassware.

"Mrs Puckerman," I spoke up after awhile. "I want to say how thankful I am that you let me stay here this long."

"Like hell you are," Puck snapped.

"Noah James!" his mother exclaimed. "Mind your language!"

"If she was really happy, she wouldn't be leaving. That's all I'm saying."

I wasn't even going to retaliate now. If I aggravated the situation any further, Puck might end up doing something he would later deeply regret. He wasn't able to control his impulses sometimes. It was usually evidenced in school with him beating up a scrawnier kid, or tossing Kurt into a dumpster, or spraying bathrooms with fire extinguishers without care of the consequence.

Mrs Puckerman apologised for his actions before making him clear the table. It was at that moment that Izz showed up so I was all set to leave. I hugged and kissed Mrs Puckerman good-bye, gave Ashley a hug too and ignored Puck. My sister helped me stow my luggage into the trunk of her beautiful red convertible and before long, we were speeding away into the darkness, Puck's little trailer house getting smaller and smaller until it was just a pinprick in the distance. I kept watching from the wing mirrors.

My sister and I didn't say much throughout the car ride. It was truthfully the first time she had seen me with my pregnant belly and I suppose she was a bit surprised. I guess, to her, the deed was never done if there was no concrete proof. However, she did break the ice in the end. Chip by chip.

"We all make bad decisions, Quinn," she said. "Sometimes we're made to pay for them in unfair terms."

"I know," I said mechanically. "Believe me, I do."

"I've tried to talk to Dad, but he won't hear a word of it just yet."

"He's ashamed of me," I responded bluntly.

"He's ashamed of _himself_," Izz corrected. "You're a teenager and you're entitled to mistakes but Dad, he's obsessed with perfection a tad much… sometimes I wish I wasn't always a goody-two-shoes at home. Then you wouldn't have to be the black sheep. If both of us had enough wrongs to cross the rights out, you wouldn't be in this position."

"If you had gotten knocked up at sixteen, Daddy would have kicked you out, and if I carried in the same vein I think he would have done the same thing anyway," I pointed out. "It wouldn't have made any difference."

My sister sighed and slowed the car to a stop, nodding her head. We were at the intersection now, nearing her apartment building. The clock read 9.17pm and I was already feeling exhausted.

"You were always smarter than me," she told me. I gave her a bit of a pointed look and she laughed. "I know you're thinking getting knocked up is the stupidest thing – maybe it is – but you're dealing with it well enough. That's brave. I wouldn't be able to do that. I wouldn't bring it to term at all. You're a strong girl, Q."

"No I'm not," I chuckled humourlessly. "I'm groping about in the darkness right now."

"And yet you somehow made it through seven or so months? No. You found a way."

She touched my shoulder lightly just as the lights flashed green. It felt good to have the warmth of her hand on me for awhile – the feeling of family that wouldn't leave, as cheesy as that sounded.

We got to the apartment building a few minutes later. It was a classy number only the wealthy could afford. Most kids at my school would kill to live in a place like this. My father had helped Izz pick it out, but the condition was that she had to pay it out herself. She was doing all right – she worked as a lawyer so it wasn't as though she didn't have the dough to live well enough. I had only been in there a couple of times before.

We were strolling across the parking lot when Izz waved at someone in the distance by the gigantic dumpster. The guy was out tossing his garbage.

"Jesse!" she called out. "Hi!"

"Hey Isabel!" he yelled back and I froze. The coincidence actually made me choke. I lifted my head and there he was: Jesse St. James trotting over from the other side of the parking lot to greet us.


	4. The World Is Mine But You're Not There

**_Chapter Three - The World Is Mine But You're Not There_  
**

It had to be one of those weird revelations whereby you suddenly became so aware of something that they started popping up everywhere because there was no way that Jesse St. James was my sister's _neighbour_. I had no real idea how to react to this surprise, though, to be honest. All I knew was I _wasn't_ supposed to be glad. And by God, I definitely wasn't.

"He moved into his uncle's apartment a few weeks ago," Izz shrugged once we entered her home. When we had run into St. James in the parking lot, he had stopped and greeted us politely, making a point by making no abnormal comment about my presence. It was like any regular greeting – like he was used to be being around. Faultless actor, they called him, and now I really saw why. He helped us with my bags and was, sincerely, a perfect gentleman. I remained quiet for a lot of it, except for the thanks at the end right before he left. I could have seemed rude for all I knew, not that that was any concern of mine. I started grilling Izz about him once I saw him close the door to his own apartment.

"You saw it, he now lives next door to me. He's a nice boy, from the little I speak to him. I'm over next door a lot for sure, but it's the age difference I think. I heard he's going to UCLA after he finishes this year."

"I heard that too. He- … I can't say what he is," I shrugged as I walked into my sister's guest room. It was a tiny affair. I didn't mind, though. It was really cosy, with a single chest of drawers against one wall, the bed against the one opposite, and a tiny end table. The furniture was made of white-painted wood. It actually seemed to be a child's room, but that added to the charm and I saw myself settling in quite well. I exhaustedly plopped onto the bed as my sister dragged my stuff into the room.

"I need to change those sheets so you better get up. Anyway, doesn't Jesse go to your school now? I heard he transferred from Carmel. You two would be seeing quite a bit of each other, I would imagine."

"He does go to McKinley now, but he keeps to himself a lot," I shrugged again, standing up slowly. "He has a girlfriend, and thinks her the world anyway. He doesn't care about other people. He mostly ignores the rest of us."

I had nothing else to say after that. It was purely _odd_ talking about someone like _Jesse St. James_ with my sister. He was someone I barely knew. I wasn't even sure I _wanted_ to know him either. I was sick enough as it was with Rachel Berry and I had the impression that St. James was her replica, but male. I knew I'd vaguely wondered if he was simply a closet gay given his noticeable addiction to show tunes and tight-fitting vests, although it seemed like that had just been his 'first day at a new school' outfit. He never wore a vest again after Day Three. Strange how when you have no friends to hold lengthy conversations with, you end up noticing the most random things. Anyway, apparently, I was stuck with seeing him a lot though, because it sounded as if Izz went over to his uncle's place _a lot_ for Sunday brunch.

"Wouldn't have imagined him to be the reserved type. He seems really sociable to me. To me, he'd be the kind to live off the _energy_ friends give off, you know? I know that sounds really hippie of me, so bear with that."

I laughed my first genuine, happy laugh of the day, which later on I found a bit sad. "Don't take my word for any of this – I said I hardly know the guy."

"Hmm, well, the only bad point about Jesse I can really point out is that he's a little…full of himself when it comes to his vocal talent. But he's got an _amazing_ singing voice, so I'd say he sort of has the… 'right' to be conceited?"

There, _that_ was the Jesse St. James I was familiar with. The arrogant one.

"_Nobody_ has the 'right' to be that way." I shook my head at her, smirking. My sister was a huge sucker for dudes who could hold a note. All her past boyfriends had been musicians to a certain degree, and although none of them had ever worked out, Izz held out hope that one day her knight in shining armour would come riding in on his tour bus. She had a creepy thing for guys who looked like a cross between Slash and Paul McCartney, with musical talents to match. It was hilarious to me because Izz was completely tone-deaf and couldn't sing or play an instrument to save her life.

The rest of my night was spent unpacking and settling down. I was in the bathroom taking a shower – my sister had to change the sheets in the guest bedroom – when I realised right then that in a span of _one day_ and I had lost another boyfriend, moved into a completely new home and dealt with first- _and_ second-hand guilt; the former over that stupid Glist of course, and the latter somehow still over leaving Puck high and dry. How had so much happened already? I was starting to get a headache recapping everything. There were things I really didn't want to remember and yet I knew I couldn't escape them. I went to bed tormented, and barely slept a wink.

The next day, when I arrived at school, I found Puck wasn't waiting for me at my locker like he usually would. I barely felt a thing about it, despite everything, which sort of scared me. I had just broken up with the guy and expected my response to be closer to the one I had with Finn. My guilt over a lack of reaction quickly dissipated though, the moment I saw him talking to Santana by the drinking fountain. I wasn't all that indifferent after all, I realised, as I gathered my books in silence, unable to stop glaring at the back of his insolent Mohawk. In my silent anger, I dropped my overstuffed American history binder by accident. Loose assignment sheets and notes splayed across the shiny dark linoleum and I could hear the football jerks start their jeering. They knew I couldn't kneel to pick it all up. A hot flush started creeping up my neck and I had to fight the urge to strangle someone. Otherwise, though, I was immobile.

Puck had turned around to see what the commotion was, and upon noticing that I'd caused it, tried to make his way over to help me retrieve the strewn papers. Someone else reached me first though.

"Here, you dropped this," St. James held my swirly purple file in one hand and a stack of papers in another.

"Thanks," I mumbled, reaching over to take them back, but he held them away, casting me an over-dramatic look of disapproval.

"You shouldn't carry so many things by yourself when you're so far along," he whispered, giving my baby bump a once-over. I hated it when people did that and blushed even more.

"I can manage," I insisted, although St. James wouldn't hear any of it. He reached over and slipped my backpack off my shoulders, throwing me a casual comment at how heavy it actually was, and only allowed me to carry two of my smaller textbooks, taking the rest out of my hands despite my incessant, quiet protests.

"What class do you have now?"

"E-English."

"I'll walk you there. Seems like _Puck_ won't," St. James observed, cocking an eyebrow at Puck's direction. My ex-boyfriend looked ready to kill something and put it on a spit. For a few moments, the two guys stared each other down. It was a draw though, because neither broke their gazes – I just interrupted them.

"Look, don't make this anymore of a scene than it already is," I whispered. "Let's just go."

People were starting to whisper and point. Shamelessly. They might as well forego the whispering, I would imagine.

And then I saw it. Her. Rachel was staring at me from the other end of the hallway. It was like a moment out of _The Shining_ or some other film with dreaded appearances at the end of corridors. While I was never afraid of Rachel, I couldn't say I was smug to be this close to her supposed beau.

You had to give it to the girl – all her days practising facial expressions paid off well. Rachel was really wearing her heart on her sleeve at that moment. She looked entirely heartbroken and the heat of her anger was extremely evident. However, St. James either simply ignored her or didn't really notice she was there – she was actually standing pretty far off – and proceeded to walk ahead of me towards the stairwell that led to the second floor, where the sophomore English classrooms were. He left me standing in the middle of the hallway dumbly with nothing in my arms except a couple of books and a blank expression on my face. St. James didn't even rush me – he remained waiting at the foot of the stairs until I had come to grips with what was happening – seemingly anyway, I was still freaking out at this turn of events for sure – and trailed after him. We arrived outside Mr Mickens' classroom a few minutes later and I just had to stop him.

"St. James, what the hell is wrong with you? You heard nothing of what I said yesterday. _You_ are disrupting the dynamics at this school and creating a huge deep pool of rumour for the sharks to swim in," I whispered urgently, deciding that beating around the bush wasn't going to get us anywhere. "Everyone will eat us alive – you draw too much attention-"

"I never knew you to be a person who uses analogies in their speech," he commented. I resisted from slapping him across the face. His nonchalance and false ignorance was _infuriating_. It was happening one time too many over too short a time span. How did Rachel stand him if this was how he was all the time?

"Will you please focus on the subject at hand?" I gritted out. "Everybody thinks you're Rachel's boyfriend. What does _this_ look like to you? I'm already a teenage mother, I don't need to be a boy-snatcher too."

"You're already at the top of that Glist, what does it matter?" St. James retorted as his brows furrowed. I must have appeared as offended as I felt, because he immediately cleared up his statement, "Frankly, in my opinion, that list is complete bullshit but other people seem to believe it. Hence, they won't care if you're standing in a hallway, talking to me. _I_ personally had no idea we still lived in the Middle Ages in this school, where men and women couldn't have _any means_ of conversation without being touted as husband and wife. We're taught to be gentlemen at Carmel and-"

"Well, things are different here than at your old school, so you better get that through your skull real quick. We don't work like you guys do!" I hissed. "Call us uncultured or whatever, but that's a fact. Everyone here has a role to play. Helping me isn't…your duty so you shouldn't do it. Charity is hardly accepted."

God that sounded stupider out loud than in my head. The saddest thing was that it was the truth about McKinley High School. He was right – we were incredibly medieval. What he didn't seem to understand was that changing it was going to be nothing but futile attempts. It was hopeless.

"I still don't understand what the big deal is," St. James sighed. "It's really obvious you-" he gestured yet again at my swollen belly, "-need help not because I think you're disabled or something irrational like that. You're pregnant. You have to take care of yourself."

"But why is it that it's _you_ of all people trying to help me?" I knew I sounded really desperate now. "Why should I have to accept things from you when I don't know who you are? And vice versa! You know nothing about me and here we are having this argument."

"I think we're not as different as you make us out to be."

"Please St.- _Jesse_," I said, closing my eyes in an effort to relax. "Don't bother with me, okay? I don't expect anybody else to-"

"Why do I have to be asked to do a good thing?" he demanded, making it clear that he had a hard time trying to keep his voice hushed. "Why can't you accept the fact that I'm doing something good for someone other than myself or Rachel because I myself want to?"

I couldn't find the words to respond or rebuke at all. He made perfect sense.

Finally, Jesse merely rolled his eyes at me and shook his head. "You know what? Whatever. I tried to help you _twice_ and, well, that didn't work so don't expect any more 'charity' from me. You want me invisible, so be it. By the way, _you're welcome_."

He dropped my things without another word and stormed off in the direction we came in, leaving me – if anything – feeling guiltier than ever.


	5. I Am Not A Robot

_**Chapter Four – I Am Not a Robot**_

I would have been lying if I'd said the rest of my day wasn't all that great. I was fully aware that there were some things to be happy about and life wasn't always out to get me. It wasn't like there was a string of unfortunate events following what had happened between Jesse and me in the hallway. After he'd left, Mr Mickens informed us that we would be watching a video in English, which was always a good chance to catch up the sleep I normally lacked. Afterwards, I'd found out that I'd gotten A's in _both_ my US History and AP Math tests, _and_ Mr Cohen, our Geography teacher, was out sick. I managed to eat lunch outside under the sun on the bleachers by the sports track, and hence went unnoticed by the majority of the student body that loved to taunt me so ("Are you trying to gain more weight?" Cue condescending laughter). These things added up would have made a relatively good day in the life of a reformed, pregnant Quinn Fabray but in reality, today, I just had a sick feeling in my gut throughout, disabling me from enjoying these little motions. There was the imminent dread that washed over me the closer it got to my final activity for the day – Glee. Too many things went wrong with that group, and I was feeling the brunt of it.

Mr Schuester must have been getting plenty of heat over the Glist because instead of normal Glee Club today, he lined us all up outside his office for "questioning" – in his words. He was dramatising everything to scare us of course, but it was clear that he was anything but fooling around. I could see the dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was messier than usual – like he had been running his fingers through the strands several times in frustration. He, in all honesty, _appeared_ scarier than ever, without the added drama. I wasn't a complete idiot though – it was pretty obvious that the Glist wasn't the only thing on his mind. Nevertheless, it was the most pressing issue at hand, which made all the difference I guess. Maybe he felt it was easiest to solve too.

One by one, Glee Clubbers entered Mr Schue's office, starting with Mercedes. When she emerged, she appeared crankier than she normally did, although the same could not be said for everyone. Tina came out close to tears and Artie looked flabbergasted as he wheeled himself away. The boys generally had more subdued reactions than the girls (for instance, Santana looked about ready to rip someone's throat out as opposed to Mike Chang's cool composure). The number of kids waiting diminished slowly as each of them trickled out after being questioned. Soon I was left with Rachel and Jesse and I didn't think I could have been any tenser. My muscles bunched up as I fought to sit still and calmly, all the while enduring Jesse's ignorance of me, and Rachel's dagger-sharp glares. The silence the three of us shared was the worst of it all.

"Jesse," Mr Schuester finally called from inside his office as Puck trudged out. "How many people are out there?"

"Three," Jesse responded monotonously. Anybody who'd even heard of Jesse St. James would know that _nothing_ merited a dull response with him. There was always something to be cheerful about, something to brag about. So they'd automatically figure that a bored Jesse was an upset Jesse. I felt my chest tighten uncomfortably and looked away.

I could hear Mr Schue's sigh of relief that his work was almost done. "All right, come on in now." The door clicked shut a few seconds later.

Great, now I was left alone with Barbra Streisand. If the world turned my way, Rachel's mouth would've been sewn shut.

"What were you doing talking to Jesse?" she wanted to know.

Nobody had it _that_ good.

"Oh, I'm _sorry_, I didn't know people weren't allowed to even make contact with your property," I sneered, rolling my eyes, not even bothering to glance her way. Truth be told, my intuition was telling me that if I looked at anybody directly at this point, I would give myself away. My guilt over the situation had reached the precipice and very soon, I would fall over.

"Very funny, Quinn, but you know what I mean!" Rachel snapped, prodding me hard in the arm. I winced more from the hurt in her voice than any physical contact. "We may be fighting at the moment, but Jesse is still my boyfriend."

"So he is. What does this have to do with me?" I demanded, glaring at her. I was pleased to see her falter slightly under my gaze. At least I hadn't lost it completely.

"I don't trust you," Rachel huffed. "You're angry with me because everything you've ever had was stripped from you, admittedly because of me – but whatever I revealed was only the truth! Of course, it wouldn't stop you from trying to ruin my life and what better way to do it than go after my boyfriend!"

"God, don't you ever shut up?" I replied in a snarky tone. "I do not have to explain myself to you of all people, RuPaul. I can't believe you even have the guts to talk about what you've stolen from me with such relish. I don't expect you to feel sorry for me, but get off my back. I'm not doing anything wrong."

"You-"

Just then, Mr Schue's office door cracked open a few inches. Jesse's head popped out from the crevice.

"Your turn, Quinn."

* * *

The thing was, Jesse didn't leave the room once I'd stepped in. He simply closed the door behind me and returned to his seat. Mr Schue had clearly perched himself away from the light, hiding his expression. There was an empty chair next to Jesse's and I settled myself cautiously into it. The room itself was darkened, with the blinds drawn shut a la Buffy – letting only slits of light into the room – and only a low-lit table lamp was switched on. It cast elongated shadows over the walls which would have been creepy if they weren't sort of cheesy. But it was apparent that Mr Schue wanted to prove a point so I kept quiet. He wouldn't be in the mood for such quips anyway.

"That's not fair," I spoke up. I had to keep my cool in order to keep from spilling the beans on myself. I had to turn on my defence mechanism – my ability to gripe about anything and everything.

"What isn't?" Mr Schue murmured from his corner.

"Why's he here with me?" I asked. "I don't recall the others getting the same treatment."

"So now you're saying it's unfair to you? Or to them?"

"_What?_" I was confused now. "You lost me. Mr Schue, you're not making any sense-"

"While we're on the issue of fairness," he cut me off, "do you think it was fair that _you_ made that Glist?"

"I don't believe this!" I exclaimed. "You're not even asking me questions, you're just accusing me!"

"You're right, I'm not bothering to hear your end of the story," Mr Schuester rounded on me, appearing from the shadows. He looked angry. Two could play that game. I made sure I looked the most defiant I could.

"You're wrong about this."

"Why'd you do it, Quinn?" he asked in a low voice. He wasn't going to let me go without a fight. That was plain as day.

"I can't believe you're going to pin this on me," I muttered, shaking my head. "I _didn't_ do it!"

"You know, I've heard all those other kids sing that same song and let me tell you, I'm tired of it," Mr Schue retorted.

"You're basically saying you're going to implicate me just because you're _exhausted_ from all the questioning!" I cried. "That's hardly any grounds to-"

"I wasn't finished," Mr Schue interrupted. "Quinn, I have to say I hadn't suspected any of your fellow Glee Clubbers previously. I was just pulling up all the stops with this questioning routine – making sure that if it _really_ was one of them that they wouldn't get away with it. But I haven't been able to pin _motive_ on them just yet. You, on the other hand, I've realised have any reason to make such a list."

"Solid theory, if it had any substance backing it up," I said.

"It does," Mr Schue laughed humourlessly. "It makes perfect sense. Jesse even contributed his own theories."

My head whipped around to stare at Jesse. He wasn't look up at all, just at his hands.

"As if _he_ knows anything!" I exclaimed, turning back to stare at Mr Schue. "It could have been Santana or Puck who made that list! They fit the profile to a T. Go after _them_! I mean sure, attack the pregnant cheerleader. That's the way to go since I've already messed up other aspects of my life, right?"

"You leave me no choice, Quinn. I wouldn't even attack you in the first place if I didn't have ammunition. What would Santana's or Puck's motive be, considering they put you at the _top_ of the Glist?" Mr Schue challenged. "If in some way, shape or form they decided to boost their own statuses and reputations through this list, wouldn't they put _themselves_ at number one?"

"They're probably clever enough not to because they knew the school would try to put the blame on the person who put themselves first! It's common sense!" I replied angrily. Yes, I was degrading myself. Big deal. It _could_ work here.

I could feel tears well up in my eyes but hell would freeze over before they would fall in this room under these circumstances.

"That isn't the principle of it. If either of them had written the list, they would've done it earlier. This all seems too abrupt," Jesse finally opened his mouth and spoke up, turning his gaze from the floor tiles to me. "Someone would have to be _really_ desperate to make this list for a quick boost up the popularity ladder. It's a poor way to do it, but it works, I have to admit. They must have been feeling pretty down and out over _recent_ occurrences."

"Jesse makes a decent point there, _and_ I put two and two together when I'd had to walk in your shoes this week, Quinn," Mr Schue added, slightly less critically as he remembered the problems he'd been facing himself. "To have your good streak stripped from you by a single bad decision that you only realise in hindsight when what you once had is gone. That's enough fuel to make something as demeaning as the Glist."

I couldn't believe it. Mr Schue had said it all. It was like he had been inside my head, interpreting all my thoughts from way back when, since I'd gotten knocked up. I had the right mind to go against him some more, be difficult and push everything away yet again – maybe even towards Rachel – but I understood that he would never buy it. If he could understand my predicament this well, he already had all the answers. I should just shut up and face the music.

"I- I never meant to hurt anybody," I confessed. "Not you, nor other members of the club. I really didn't think it was that big a deal. I just wanted some kind of reputation back. That's all."

I hated how vulnerable I sounded at that moment. My voice was crackling and thickening as I fought the urge to sob my heart out. Hell was having a pretty cold day.

"I know, Quinn," Mr Schue said softly, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I felt a bit better with the warmth. "High school may seem like the world right now, but eventually you're going to start a new life after it. After the baby's adopted. There's so much more to look forward to."

Jesse was still abnormally quiet, although he'd stretched an arm out towards me with that dratted handkerchief, nudging me with it. I wasn't so reluctant to accept his kindness this time around.

Suddenly, there came a quick rap on the door and before we knew it, Principal Figgins was standing in the doorway. I hastily dabbed at my eyes, hoping I didn't look as wrecked as I was feeling.

"Schue, time's up!" Figgins announced. "Have you caught the creator of the Glist, or haven't you?"

"Uh, why don't you guys take off?" Mr Schuester suggested to Jesse and me. "Let Principal Figgins and I have a little privacy to discuss things."

"Sure," Jesse nodded. "See you tomorrow, Mr Schuester."

"See you," I squeaked as I was literally pushed out the door.

"What happened?" Rachel demanded as we stepped out. "You guys were in there an really long time-"

"You can leave," I snapped, not really crazy about speaking to her. "Mr Schue's done for the day."

Rachel looked concerned for me for a split second, although I simply didn't stick around to assess that. I had to get out of there. I stalked past her without a word, praying silently that I could be left alone the rest of the day. At least now I could go home, even though I was left dangling about what my fate was like at McKinley. If Mr Schue told on me, I would be expelled for sure.

Just considering that possibility brought me close to tears again and I stopped at the end of the hallway, leaning against a row of lockers and squeezing my eyes shut. I wished for nothing more than to dissolve into the cold metal behind me. My legs felt like jelly and I slowly sunk onto the linoleum floor. I had to suppress my desire to vomit and I pressed Jesse's handkerchief against my eyes. I hadn't realised I didn't give it back. It had been a really long time since I had cried this badly. It wasn't merely a few sobs and a sniffle here and there – it was full-on, sob-wracked body with the uncontrollable wailing. As soon as I tried to contain it I felt nauseous and it was simply better to let it all out. Thank God nobody was around to witness it. Or so I thought.

His arms were around me before I could protest. His hand rubbed my back and it felt too nice to be embraced like that – I hadn't really hugged a person in a long time too – so I didn't bother fighting. It wasn't as if I had the energy to at this point anyway. I could do nothing else but sit there and cry my heart out into his fleece shirt.

Jesse stayed with me until all my crying had dwindled to soft hiccoughs. By then I'd sat upright and wiped my smeared mascara from my cheeks, although he kept his hand on my back consistently. Despite this veil of niceties, there was still a burning question. I turned to look at Jesse only to find him staring right back expectantly. He knew what I was going to ask.

"How did you know it was me?"

"It's simple," he replied. "I would've done the same thing."

* * *

**A/N:** Hello! Firstly, I'd like to apologise for keeping all of you waiting - I only recently discovered I don't have my St. Fabray documents on my laptop (they're all on my PC in a whole other country...) and I had to rewrite this chapter from memory. It's not as good as how I had it initially, I feel, but I got some more dialogue I think! Do tell me how you found it :)

Another thing is that updates are bound to be a lot slower now that school has started, and I basically have to work from scratch + bits of memory, so I ask that you all be a bit more patient in between chapters. I'll try not to let you all down, but it's hard to estimate for the moment! Thank you all for all the story alerts, and all the lovely reviews, even - God forbid - favouriting this! :) It's all so appreciated.


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